There was a hard frost last night.
Stepping into the backyard at 7am this Saturday morning, the ground was firm and everything was sparkling from the bits of ice. The eastern horizon showed just a line of orange, as if there were fire in the distance. The trees, whose leaves were all underfoot, were just barren silhouettes against the sky. The dark sky was giving way to navy, and all was quiet. When I return inside, I see the windows covered in fractal-like patterns of frost.
God knows I dread the coming of winter, and sometimes I think He tries to convince me otherwise.